


Papiergeist

by AlSmash



Category: Naruto, Worm - Wildbow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8588566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlSmash/pseuds/AlSmash
Summary: She calls herself Taylor Hebert. Her dreams do no such thing. This is a world of gods and monsters; fitting, then, that it will come to witness the dawn of an angel.





	1. Awakening 1.01

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to be the first to welcome to you to something a little different from my usual fare of writing. This has been something that has been gnawing at the back of my mind for a few months now, just wishing to be let loose. It first actually started out as simply an inspiration from reading stories like Memories of Iron(RIP becuzitswrong). I toyed with the idea of a Taylor with memories, knowledge, and powers from another character in the anime world. Hilariously, I had to keep toning it down before I finally settled on someone who honestly, I felt Taylor could identify in her own way and provide an ability, that while not too gratuitous, has its own benefits and disadvantages that could have an impact upon the world.
> 
> This is the fruit of that labor.

_As she watched Yahiko, she could only think of how far they had come. It seemed not that long ago they had been orphans scrounging for food to simply survive, and now…_

_Now they were yet one step closer to achieving their dream of peace in Amegakure._

_They still had a long way to go, there was no debate on that aspect. With Yahiko and his youthful exuberance and solemnity, they had begun to gather people who believed in the same thing that they did, and were willing to fight for what was right._

_Yet at the same time, as Yahiko talked pointedly with the man that they had come to meet, she could not deny the feeling that this was one person that they should have nothing to do anything with._

_Everyone knew who Madara Uchiha was, and if they didn't, then they were not shinobi. His name was the the name whispered to the children of shinobi like a boogeyman. And, to be honest, she agreed with that sentiment._

_So when 'Madara Uchiha' had appeared before them, offering to assist them, she had wanted to tell Yahiko to turn him down. That their vision was not worth endangering by accepting any offer from a man who may or may not truly be who he claimed, as she had doubts as to the veracity thereof. Especially when the man refused to show his face._

" _I'm sorry," Yahiko's said, shaking his head, "while I appreciate the offer of support for our cause, Uchiha-san, I feel that in order for Akatsuki to truly bring peace to Ame, it must be done with our own hands. If we accept outside help, then we are no better than pawns for others like our lands have been their battlefields."_

_She tensed, awaiting his response, catching out of the corner of her eye Nagato's hand slipping to retrieve a kunai._

" _As you wish," 'Madara' replied. "I laud you for your integrity in choosing such a righteous path. However, if at a later time you wish to seek my assistance, you only need to ask."_

" _I thank you for your kind words, Uchiha-san, and I will remember your offer. Maybe, in time, once Akatsuki has succeeded in its dream, we may meet again."_

" _I will look forward to that, then. I wish you luck."_

_He then stepped back, disappearing into a swirling vortex that emanated from the eyehole in his mask. Once he was finally gone, everyone seemed to relax as the tension disappeared, even Yahiko allowed his body posture to slump a little bit before he turned to look at all of of them, his hand running through his orange hair as he offered a smile._

" _We seem to be rather popular lately," he joked, which drew a few quiet laughs from her fellow Ame-nin even as she cracked a small smile of her own. Yahiko always seemed to know the right words to connect with everyone._

_Yet, her smile faltered a small bit as her eyes went back to where 'Madara' had disappeared from, unable to shake the feeling that they would be seeing him again much sooner than any of them expected._

Green eyes snapped open, pupils dilating as they sought to bring light to a world that had previously been denied it through the embrace of Morpheus. After a few moments they constricted, their owner's breathing leveled out as they simply laid in their bed staring at the ceiling.

Yet for Taylor Hebert, the owner of the aforementioned eyes, she was far from the calm that she exuded as she lay there. Instead, it served as yet another addition to the constant reminder of the fucked up reality that had become her life.

Letting out a deep sigh as she realized that sleep would not be gracing her with its presence again for the evening, she flipped off her blankets and turned her body to where she could place her feet upon the flooring, her legs protesting that they had to work at this ungodly hour. Glancing at the clock and being met with the blood-red digits informing that it was only four in the morning, she committed herself to her next course of action as she firmly put her weight upon her feet and rose from her bed and got dressed.

Fifteen minutes later, she was jogging through her neighborhood, the chilled late April air adding an extra bite to her regimen, as if in its last gasp to deny spring it wanted in on a piece of the action when it came to messing with her life.

But that was all right with her, she welcomed the cold. It was simple; you either were warm, or you were not. And it also served to sharpen her mind, allowing her to focus as she worked the body she had grown into since _that day_.

That was the only description that seemed to work in her mind, _that day_ , when the hell that had been her life at Winslow High had decided that it just wasn't enough for Taylor Hebert - that it needed to spice things up by tossing her scrawny, miserable, ass straight into the Third Circle of Hell for shits and giggles.

Even now, the stench and feel of that locker haunted her at inopportune times; it took every part of her not to give into the memories of horror and pain that had robbed her of consciousness that day. It was like a festering wound upon her psyche that refused to heal, nor would it likely heal again.

The next thing she knew, she had found herself in the hospital, three weeks later. It had been some small miracle that the worst of the damage had been a slew of minor infections gained from the unsanitary hell she had been tossed into. Yet despite that the doctors could not explain why it had taken her three weeks to awaken from the coma she had been in when she had been brought in. Even now, with weekly checkups they were still flabbergasted by being unable to explain why.

Yet that didn't seem to be enough for whatever entity it was that found it amusing to pile on more crap to her life. Nope, it just had to add insult to injury.

After all, why would there be any witnesses to felony assault and unlawful detainment when there hadn't been any in the last year and a half.

She could still remember the anger in her father's eyes at _that_ revelation. But it was anger without a means to be expressed at the offenders through legal means. They did not have the ability to wage a legal battle against the school, and the school knew it; all she'd earned for her suffering was a quiet settlement just to make sure she'd go away.

If they were in any reasonable financial straits, Taylor and her father would have thrown it back in the school's face - but they couldn't. All the medical tests and treatment for three weeks would have evaporated the small amount of money their family had built. It wouldn't have surprised her if Emma's father had leaked that little tidbit to the school to protect his perfect little girl.

All in all, it was a crapsack series of events that led her to this point - she couldn't even sleep properly anymore, not when her dreams were haunted by the life of a figment of her imagination.

There was, however, the slightest bit of a silver lining to all of this: the benefits of the puberty bat had finally to beat her over the head something fierce. With the assistance of a nice helping of energy, hours spent working out, and a relatively stress-free recuperation, that was. Having time to focus solely upon herself was, in many ways, just what the doctor should have ordered in the first place.

Gone, for the most part, was the scrawny, gangly teenager that in some ways reminded her of a foal. She had gained a few inches, and to her surprise was actually gaining some weight and musculature. It wasn't like she'd ever be a built like a bodybuilder or anything, but it was nice to actually _look_ like a woman. Hell, her breasts had even grown a bit. No longer was she a completely flat chest - though, with her heritage, even what she had now was probably the best she'd ever get.

It was a pleasant surprise to say the least. She felt stronger, faster, and more confident in who she was. Yet, at times, it just felt...strange.

And honestly, she felt like people would have an issues recognizing her when she returned to school.

Her eyes widened behind her frames, jog coming to a stop as it dawned what today was: it was the day that she was slated to return to Winslow.

She held back the curse that threatened to escape by biting her lip, preventing her from sharing with the world her displeasure at the thought. It was a curse that didn't express that she was afraid, no, she was far from it - it expressed the mere fact that it would be an _unpleasant_ return, knowing how her three tormentors were going to attempt to capitalize upon it.

_But then again, why should I worry about it? They are beneath me._

Blinking, she wondered where that errant thought came from. While she was confident, thanks to this time to recuperate, in how she could handle the situation, there was no reason for such an….arrogant dismissal.

Shaking her head, and discarding her misgivings on that thought as merely a result of all the dreams that had plagued in her in the last three months, she restarted her jog, returning home just as the sun's first rays were beginning to peek over the horizon and onto Brockton Bay. From there, it was only a quick matter of taking a shower, getting ready for school, and then going to the kitchen to get some breakfast prepared.

Since she was short on time, she decided to go with some quick scrambled eggs and toast. It was simple and convenient to clean, and to be honest, in the mornings, she enjoyed keeping things simple.

She was just scraping the eggs onto two separate plates when her father walked into the kitchen, ready for the work day.

"Morning, kiddo," he greeted, as he sat down at the table in front of the plate.

"Morning," she returned as she got to work eating her breakfast, given the bus would be at the stop in about twenty minutes and she wanted to ensure she was on it.

"How are you holding up?"

Green met green for a moment, before her eyes returned to her food, shrugging.

"Would it actually matter how I feel?"

"It would help if maybe you talked about it."

She plastered a smile on her face. The relationship between her father and herself was rather...estranged. It was through no particular fault of their own; her mother had been the glue that kept them all together, and when she had died they had found themselves drifting apart to where they were two strangers under the same roof. The incident had changed some of it, but for her, it was too late to change what had already become the status quo.

"Thanks Dad," and she really meant that, even if it wouldn't truly help, as she grabbed her plate after finishing her food, placing it in the sink, "but this is something I need to deal with, okay?"

There was a slight pause, before he responded, "Okay, but if you need anything, I'm here."

"I know," she replied as she stepped out of the kitchen, intent on grabbing her things, not noticing the narrowing of her father's eyes behind her.

* * *

While the bus ride was uneventful, the walk through Winslow was anything but. It wasn't as if she was harassed on her trip through the grounds, it was the fact that she could feel the eyes upon her, yet no one made the attempt to approach her. Then again, they didn't seem prepared for her to confidently stride through the hallways, meeting quite a few of their eyes and forcing them to avert theirs.

 _Cowards, all of them,_ she mused darkly, as she adjusted her hold on her bag, keeping her gaze forward, her stride purposeful, knowing full well what was to come, yet not knowing why she knew that, or why she was looking forward to it.

Coming to her locker, she opened it, the strong scent of antiseptic cloying the air and nearly robbing her of breath. It seemed that even the school wanted to welcome her back with a blatant reminder. How lovely.

"Taylor?"

 _And here we are, the stars of the hour,_ she thought with grim amusement as she chose to ignore Emma Barnes, the defacto leader of the trio of girls who seemed to make it their sole purpose to make her life a living hell.

"Wow, look what the cat dragged in," Madison Clements spoke, "you'd think that she'd get the picture."

Taylor feigned a smile on her face as her teeth clenched, keeping her focus upon her locker as she idly considered whether to leave her books in her bag or not.

"And look at this, she's trying to whore herself up. So desperate for a teacher to give you the time of day that you try to pass off as a girl? You barely even look like a person."

 _No, probably not a wise choice considering it seems nothing has changed_ , she answered for herself, humming agreement to the herself. And deliberately giving the front of ignoring the three of them.

"Hey, we're talking to you," and there was Sophia Hess, she mused to herself before it was cut off as a hand dug into her shoulder and she was spun around, facing her tormentors.

_They're irrelevant._

"And?"

This caused all three girls to blink, obviously taken aback by her response. It was evident that they had expected her to shy away, to back down, and be same, old, Taylor. Well, they were going to be sorely disappointed. She was done being their personal chewtoy.

"Get it through your head, Taylor. No one wants you here. Why don't you do everyone a favor and just leave?"

Instead of answering, Taylor looked past them, idly noting three people were actually filming this with their camera phones. Memorizing who they were, she internally debated how to handle this, at the same time wondering where this confidence stemmed from, before discarding it because she actually _liked_ this. For the first time she was actually fighting back and it was intoxicating the power she was wielding at this moment.

So she did the first thing that occurred to her: she smirked and began to walk away, shaking her head.

In hindsight, that was a mistake, she had been so sure that the presence of cameras would provide her the protection from any further retaliation from the trio. Unfortunately, she was wrong, because as soon as she had began walking away, Sophia Hess struck, her first aiming in a swing to come around and connect with her temple.

It was strange, one moment she was walking away, proud of her actions, and the next second, there was paper fluttering everywhere. She wondered exactly where the paper come from. It wasn't from her.

_So who had thrown so many blank sheets of paper in the air?_

The next thought that occurred to her was why were her glasses on the floor? And why were the lenses shattered and the frame bent completely out of shape? Why could she see without her glasses?

_And why was there paper hover-_

_Hovering,_ she completed with a growing sense of trepidation, her vision shifting from the paper all around her and to the blurry, shocked expressions of the crowd around her.

 _**All looking at her** _ _._

 _No. no. No. NO._ _**NO!** _

Panic began to set in, her mind fumbling over her realization that her vision was impossible. She wasn't seeing just in front of her. _She was seeing behind herself as well._

And the murmuring - while there was no sound, or maybe her mind was trying to block out the conclusion that she was already reaching, she could somehow read the lips of those closest to her. Their shock gave away to pointing and murmuring, and in those words, words that she knew must be true, because they explained everything, she did the only thing that came to the mind of Taylor Hebert.

She fled, not on her feet but as a storm of white. Her entire body disintegrated; innumerable sheets of paper took off impossibly fast through students and staff who were just now coming to see what the disturbance was.

And before anyone else could do anything, she was gone, her bag landing with an audible thump where her body had once been.


	2. Awakening 1.02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Thanks to Magery for the Beta Work

When she looked back upon it, Taylor would be grateful—when she arrived back to the one place that she unconsciously fled to because it was safe—that no one had seen her.  After all, it was nigh impossible to not miss the massive cascade of paper that coalesced into a nude teenage girl at the front door of the Hebert household. 

 

 

But that didn’t cross her mind as she leaned against the door, trying to regain her breath.  The way her lungs burned felt like she had run a marathon.  And yet, that was far from her concern at the moment, paling in comparison to the myriad of thoughts flitting through her head that were leading her to a near-state of panic. 

 

 

After all, finding out that you were cape was one thing... it was quite another to find out that you were a cape that could _change your entire body_ into paper and fly anywhere _at the same time as being outed publicly!_

 

 

So, it was understandable that she did not recognize her situation until she touched the door to her home in the process of trying to turn the doorknob.  The physical stimuli of hitting the door—gentle as it might have been—caused a soft reboot that made her realize her situation.

 

 

Panic morphed into dawning horror.

 

 

Not only was she without a stitch of clothing, but her only means of getting into the house were still within the clothing that she had left behind in her unconscious quest to flee a distressing situation.

 

 

As quickly as the panic had turned to horror, though, it fizzled as cold, hard, rational logic reined it into obedience, like a light switch being flipped in her head.  Green eyes narrowed in concentration as she stepped back, the cold providing not even a nuisance for her, despite the season being somewhat cooler than usual.

 

 

After a few moments, she found what she had needed - she’d left the window to her bedroom a slightly open that morning, in the interests of airing the house a little.  A small spark of panic fluttered through her mind at the thought of what she was about to do, but it was quickly tamped down. Instead, she began to focus, looking at down at her hands as her skin began to peel into paper.

 

 

Fighting back the revulsion at the strangeness she was seeing, she instead concentrated harder, closing out everything except herself and her need to get into that window, where she could find safety and comfort. 

 

 

In truth, the strangest thing about it was that it didn’t feel strange at all. Her body didn’t feel any different whether it was paper or flesh. She had touch, she felt sensation, like she was still made of skin and bone rather than dead trees. That sense, the one that told you where everything you were was in relation to everything else you were—proprioception, if she remembered correctly—was working perfectly - even when her arm split entirely from her body and fluttered toward the window.

 

 

That, more than anything else, terrified her. Because it wasn’t normal, absolutely not, but it felt like she’d been living this way her whole life. As she reassembled in her bedroom, that thought along with everything else hit at the same time.  She hadn’t even allowed the last sheets to finish reapplying to her body before she was off in a sprint to the bathroom, making it just in time for her breakfast to make a violent reappearance into the toilet bowl.

 

 

She lay sprawled on her knees like that for a good ten minutes, her mind trying to come to grasp with everything that had taken place.  But that was not the worst part of it all; no, those events were a mere appetizer for the horrifying conclusion she just reached.

 

 

  
_I have the same powers as her_ , Taylor thought to herself, _I have the same…. those memories.  They’re real, aren’t they?  All of it, it’s real.  Konan.  Her abilities, her_ , she felt her gorge rise again, so she took a deep breath to try and prevent a pointless exercise as she no longer had nothing left in her stomach to purge, _thoughts.  Those thoughts I’ve been having, they’re what she would think.  They have to be._

 

 

Resting her head against the cool porcelain, she closed her eyes, trying to organize everything into a cohesive construct.  She may have let her grades slide simply because it was pointless to try in the face of the Trio, but that didn’t stop her from cultivating her mind. 

 

“Okay, forget the thoughts, forget the memories, Taylor,” she murmured to herself, “you have _her_ powers.  What can you do?”

 

 

She then shook her head as images of battles fought as Konan flitted through her mind, before coming back to a singular errant thought that gave her pause, “No, the better question is, what _can’t_ you do?”

 

 

Suddenly remembering her nudity, she took a deep cleansing breath, wiping her mouth clean of any debris from her episode before rising to her feet.  She stepped over in front a mirror to look at herself, inured to the strangeness of this entire situation before closing her eyes.

 

 

“Okay Taylor,” she muttered to herself, concentrating on the idea that had implanted itself in her head.  If she had opened her eyes as she focused, she would have watched as her ‘skin’ peeled and morphed, expanding before contouring to her body in its new shape as color was added on what was previously bone white. 

 

 

When her eyes opened, she found herself ‘dressed’ in the very outfit that Konan had worn underneath her cloak.  Scanning at it for a moment, she found that she had mixed feelings for the garb—and nowhere near the right body—before what she had just done hit her.

 

 

Taylor laughed.

 

 

“At least I won’t have to worry about buying clothes anymore,” she said once she had finished laughing, focusing upon herself in the mirror and concentrating to change her clothing to something more...upstanding, recalling both the look and feel of the clothing she had worn this morning.  Soon enough, she was decked out in a facsimile of that outfit, staring at her image.

 

 

Satisfied that she was now decent, she left the bathroom focusing upon the revelation that yes, she had the abilities of this woman who was named Konan, but she also shared her thoughts and memories. Judging by how she had been in the last couple of weeks, they were bleeding through in almost every facet of how she acted.  That thought was a… mixed bag, to say the least.  After all, who would be comfortable with their head being a timeshare for two different mentalities, one of which was not their own?

 

 

But that was for later. There were larger issues at the moment: the first was that she was a cape, but the second, and by far the more serious of the two, was the fact that she had been outed in public.  Right now, she needed to prepare for the eventuality that she would be confronted either by the PRT and the Protectorate, or some other group like the E88, for recruitment.  While the former might take no for an answer, the E88 would surely not.  That meant she would have to protect herself.

 

 

And while she was positive that she had access to Konan’s entire arsenal of abilities—

 

 

  
_Techniques_ , she corrected herself, before catching the errant and foreign thought and groaning as she cradled her head in frustration. It was made worse by the fact that the word was something else entirely - but Taylor couldn’t help but translate the meaning in her head, from a language she didn’t even _know_. Except she did.

 

 

If she had been winded just from using _Dance of the Shikigami_ over that distance, that meant that she would have to be sparing in using more higher powered techniques and keep it simple for now, until she had the time to expand her... chakra coils.  Something that would likely take months, possibly years - but she was more intent on making it months.

 

 

Which meant she had to exercise more, not just physically, but more importantly with her chakra. 

 

However, first she needed to eat. From what Konan’s knowledge was telling her, chakra exercises were calorie-consuming endeavors that if one did not eat right and frequently would end up doing more harm than good.  Pretty much like exercise. Except for the soul. Sort of.

 

 

Some pan-seared tilapia sounded… her eyes closed as she let a deep sigh that sufficed for the internal screaming currently taking place.

 

 

  
_Now I know why I suddenly don't like fried, greasy food_ , she thought to herself with a hint of bitterness.  She had actually _liked_ them previously.

 

 

Nonetheless, despite that Konanic (yeah, she was going to call it that) influence, fish did sound like a nice filling and healthy meal. With a side of rice and vegetables. Did they even have all of those in the house?

 

 

  
_And yet another problem appears_ , she thought to herself with a groan at the financial implications that would entail a change to a diet to promote her growth. Something else to be added to the laundry list of shit that needed to be figured out pronto. 

 

 

\--------------------

 

 

When Hannah had come back from her nightly patrol without any notable incidents, she’d found herself not looking forward to the day.  It was a belief that stemmed from supposed empirical evidence collected through a biased lens of superstition. 

 

 

Apparently, it hadn’t been superstition at all.

 

 

Instead, it was the reality that had been thrown straight into the lap of the woman who called herself Miss Militia, as she strode purposefully toward the household of Taylor Hebert.  And she was none too pleased.  No, that would be an understatement - if she had still retained the angriest parts of her, she would right now be resisting the urge to scream obscenities to the heavens.

 

 

Because at the heart of all of the reasons why she was here was Sophia Hess—Shadow Stalker—an irritant that was fast approaching an aggravation worthy of more than a few choice words.  While she was one for providing second chances, the case of Shadow Stalker was one that she had privately felt was unnecessary. You didn’t bring a vigilante with a attempted murder charges into a group of impressionable teens with powers and _not expect_ trouble, especially when said perpetrator was a cause for more stress in the Wards as well as not showing any real remorse for her actions.

 

 

No, it was simply a matter of desperation that Sophia Hess had not simply been arrested and carted off to an appropriate prison.  A desperation that stemmed from the fact that the Protectorate chapter of Brockton Bay was fighting a losing war for the heart and soul of the city.

 

 

Stifling those dark thoughts for later, she arrived at the door and reviewed what she had been able to bring up about Taylor Hebert. Suffice to say, it hadn’t been a lot.  If there had been an initial reading of the young woman, it would best describe her as an unremarkable fifteen year old who was an outsider in the hell that was the terrible teens.  At least, that was what Hannah had seen on the surface. She had a feeling that it was much deeper than that, especially after piecing together the incident in which Taylor Hebert was found in a locker filled with biological waste and now this video, along with the sudden drop in her grades and attendance in recent years.

 

 

No, she had a sneaking suspicion that what she was aware of was merely the tip of the iceberg.  And if that were true, then her respect for the young woman would certainly be justified, considering the usual reaction once a troubled teen realized they were a cape.

 

 

And the worst part of all of this was the fact that this was a courtesy visit that likely would not end with the Wards gaining a new member, since Taylor Hebert was outed and it was already all over ParaHumans Online.  Probably for the best considering the Protectorate’s tacit involvement in her tormenting.

 

 

Knocking on the door, she decided that whatever happened here, she was going to shoot straight with Taylor, and when she got back to the Rig she was going to make it her job to transact a pound of flesh from Hess over the situation. One way or another, she would learn the truth.

 

 

Away from her personal thoughts, though, she had to wonder, after a few minutes, if she had been wrong about Taylor returning home in spite of the vector of her escape being sighted by several bystanders.

 

 

That thought was finally proven wrong as the door opened to reveal Taylor Hebert.

 

 

“Hi, Miss Hebert, I’m Miss Militia,” she introduced herself, trying to appear as non-confrontational as possible; an improbability considering who she was, but the attempt was honest, “I’ve just come to see if you’re okay, and maybe ask some questions, if you are willing.”

 

 

She grimaced at how she awkward she sounded, and thanked the fact that the Director had the sanity to have her approach Taylor instead of Colin. If the expression Taylor wore while greeting her was any indicator, this was likely going to be a rather interesting discussion if it took place.  After all, she had expected a more significant reaction than Taylor’s eyes narrowing for a moment before casting a surreptitious scan over Hannah’s shoulder.

 

 

  
_Searching for additional threats_ , she realized unnervingly with a start.  Just how bad had it been that a teenager would adopt the mannerisms of someone who felt under threat? 

 

 

“I also brought your things as well,” she added, holding up Taylor’s backpack and a bag filled with the belongings that she had left at Winslow. Maybe the peace offering would at least break the ice somewhat. Maybe it wouldn’t. They were Taylor’s anyway, and she deserved to have them.

 

 

After another moment of awkward silence, Taylor finally responded by taking the offering.

 

 

“Thank you.  Please, come in, I was just finishing up lunch.”

 

 

With that, she turned and walked softly inside, going at a slow enough pace for Hannah to be able to close the door behind her as she stepped in and followed. Taylor led her into the kitchen, where she was met with the smell and sights of lunch just freshly prepared. 

 

 

“Please,” Taylor said, moving what appeared to be a fish stir fry off its gas burner, “take a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

 

 

Taking the offered seat at the kitchen table, she used the opportunity to study her surroundings before focusing upon the reason she was here as Taylor finished with setting the food aside.

 

 

A thought was niggling at the back of her mind at how _off_ this all seemed.  It wasn’t just the way that she was greeted, but it was just how Taylor seemed to carry herself.  It was subtle, but there was an _edge_ to how she carried herself. Like she was a knife, newly drawn and ready for violence at any moment.  Again, she wondered why that would be; Taylor was not acting anywhere near the way Hannah had expected her to.

 

 

“Would you like some tea?”

 

 

“Hm? Oh, yes, thank you.”

 

 

Thankfully, it wasn’t iced tea. The thought came with a hint of relief; Taylor had an actual kettle on the stove, and she proceeded to pour out the hot contents into a pair of cups and bring them over to the table before she sat down.

 

 

“Thank you for bringing my stuff back, I appreciate it,” Taylor began. “Now, you said you had questions?”

 

 

It was like looking at a puzzle and missing so many pieces you couldn’t make heads or tails of what the picture should be. Or even if there was a picture at all. There was something that she was not seeing, both in the mannerisms _that just not should be_ and the verbiage.  This wasn’t an act either, that much was apparent. Taylor was too composed for that.

 

 

“Let me say first that you don’t have to answer any question that you are uncomfortable with, Taylor. I do have a few questions that may be too personal considering the events that have transpired, but don’t feel obligated to answer them if you really don’t want to.”

 

 

There was a slight nod of acknowledgement, and after taking a sip of tea that she idly noted was green, she asked the first question that burgeoned in her mind.

 

 

“May I inquire as to when and how you triggered?”

 

 

There was a slight down-tick to Taylor’s impassive expression; if she hadn’t been looking for it, she wouldn’t have seen it.  What it meant, on the other hand, Hannah wasn’t so sure.

 

 

“In hindsight, I triggered after I was stuffed into my locker and left there for a few hours,” came her answer after a few moments in a clinical tone, before a certain frostiness took over in the last part of her response. “I was not aware that I _had_ triggered and what my abilities were until today.”

 

 

The standard operating procedure here would have been to inquire as to the abilities that the subject had since it had been broached, something Colin would have done for sure.  But it was both the tone and her suspicion that fueled her departure from SOP.

 

 

“How long were you bullied by them?” she asked, slipping in some compassion to try and soothe the wounds that were readily apparent.  While she had her own experiences with it, back when she’d gone to school knowing fewer words of English than she did numbers, they seemed to pale in comparison to what she suspected Taylor had endured.

 

 

It was in that question that she saw the first _real_ emotion from Taylor, if only for a few moments.  The way her eyes narrowed dangerously, her jaw clenched, and a slight sneer appeared upon her lips—even if it vanished just as quickly—made it apparent that her suspicions were correct.

 

 

She just wasn’t expecting how truly bad it was.

 

 

“A year and a half,” Taylor responded.

 

 

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together and end up with _shit!_   Because that was exactly what she concluded with as she resisted the urge to groan.  That pretty much sealed the deal on any attempts at recruiting Taylor for the time being.  At least until Shadow Stalker was dealt with -  there was no way she would place Taylor in an environment with Sophia Hess.

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

 

A slight tilt of the head was the only response for moment, as if Taylor was trying to decipher what she meant by that. 

 

 

“Are you sorry because I was bullied?  Or for some other reason entirely?”

 

 

It was her turn to blink, taken aback at how much that the young woman had read into the intent of her apology.  She had meant it because, while she had not known about it, she still had some burden of responsibility for Shadow Stalker’s actions.

 

 

“I’m sorry that you were bullied for so long, Miss Hebert.”

 

Instead of offering any response, she found herself under a calculating stare from the teenager.  It was then that she recalled something else as she found herself focused now entirely upon Taylor.

 

 

_Her eyes were not green._

 

 

Immediately she tensed, staring into burnt orange eyes that met hers evenly, before they faded into white and “Taylor” began to peel apart, sheets of paper taking off into the living room. Hannah rose out of her chair, moving as fast as she could without making it a threat. The combat knife sheathed at her hip unfolded, blurring halfway into a flamethrower before Hannah forced it down.

 

 

Instead, she watched as the paper met up with yet another wave of paper that peeled off the walls and other pieces of furniture in the living room, coalescing into another Taylor, who now held her hands up looking apologetic. 

 

 

“Sorry. Sorry,” the young teenager apologized, “I wasn’t aware of how long my clone would last.”

 

 

Relaxing a bit, she watched as Taylor walked to the table, reached into the bag that had contained her belongings, and extracted the broken pair of glasses therein.  Grimacing, she placed the broken frames on the table in front of her, before finally taking a sip of what was now likely lukewarm tea.

 

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Taylor then began, before holding up her left hand upright and bowing her head slightly, muttering something under her breath. What did hens have to do with anything?

 

 

After a moment, she brought her hand down, eyes now once again green.

 

 

“About my abilities,” Taylor continued, obviously trying to regain control of the situation, “I guess you’ve already figured that I can transform myself into paper, but well,” she paused, turning her right palm up and a single sheet of paper peeled off, before beginning to fold, as several other sheets of paper joined its brethren, eventually forming an ornate origami flower that then turned sky-blue.  Placing it down, she then slid it across the table to allow her to look at it with a bit of admiration.

 

 

“I can control and manipulate paper that I create or touch.”

 

 

She then held up her left hand, and again, with a sense of amazement, Hannah found herself watching as a new construct was formed right before her eyes from paper:  a leaf-shaped daggerhead that was connected to a haft with a ringed pommel.  It then dropped into Taylor’s hand; when she slid it across the table to Hannah, it skidded like, well, metal on wood.

 

 

To her amazement, it actually felt like the real thing, all the way down to the weight. When Hannah let it go, dropping it back down on to the table with a dull thunk, she watched as it returned to individual sheets of paper. They flew back across the table and disappeared into Taylor’s body.  It was honestly unnerving, but at the same time there was an eerie beauty to it.

 

 

“And the thing with the eyes?”

 

 

“A transformation,” Taylor quickly supplied, but didn’t add anything more to clarify.

 

 

Nodding mutely, she realized that this was probably all that she was going to get out of Taylor at least for now.  It was obvious that that there was likely more considering the clone and how she had appeared to be watching them this entire time, but she was not here to push the issue.

 

 

“Thank you for telling me, Taylor.  Now, the reason I'm here is to talk to you about your options.  Rogue capes unfortunately do not survive long on their own.  I’m not really trying to throw recruitment options at you in a time like this, but, well, your unique circumstances and powers tie my hands when it comes to what I can do to help you.  I’d suggest that it may be in your best interest to get in touch with New Wave.”

 

 

Taylor nodded, obviously taking in what Hannah had said, which was honestly all she could ask for.  The choice was now solely in the teenager’s hand.  That wasn’t to say that she wouldn’t touch base with Sarah Pelham and ask her to check in on Taylor in a few days. 

 

 

“Do you have any questions?”

 

 

“Not right now. If or when I do, is there any way I can contact you?”

 

 

“Sure,” she retrieved a card from one of her pockets and handed it to Taylor.  Recognizing that there was not much else she could do at the moment, she rose to her feet, “Thank you for your time, Taylor.”

 

 

“No, thank you,” the teen stood up herself, before picking up the paper flower she had made earlier, “please, take it.  As a token of appreciation.”

 

 

Taking a look at the faux flower and then back to Taylor, she then took it. It was a beautiful thing, and for a moment Hannah felt sad about what it was going to be put through when she got back to the Rig. If it made it through all the Master/Stranger screening—because of course you couldn’t be too careful—then it’d probably disappear into Colin’s lab, never to be seen again except in Hannah’s memory.

 

 

“Are you sure?”

 

 

“Yes,” the raven-haired teenager replied, opening her mouth to add something more, before closing it and offering a sad smile instead.

 

 

“Thank you, then.  I hope to hear from you in the future, Taylor.  If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

 

 

“I promise.”

 

 

And with that, Taylor escorted her to the door and showed her out. 

 

 

Hannah found herself thinking back to the ornate, sky-blue flower as she drove back towards the Rig, intent on reporting to Director Piggot. Something beautiful, made from the twisted, folded corpses of what it resembled.

 

 

There was a metaphor in there, somewhere.


	3. Interlude 1.x - Hannah

Her return to the headquarters of the Brockton Bay Protectorate found her filling the paperwork necessary to log and register the ornate paper flower that Taylor had given her for Master/Stranger protocols, on the off chance it was a trap. Hannah doubted it.  Even the duty officer had given her a strange look when he had thought she hadn’t been looking.

 

“Didn't know you liked flowers,” a new voice drew her attention as she finished her form, adding a signature to it before she slid the clipboard across the counter to the on-duty officer along with the flower, who then took it to the back.  That done, she met the gaze of Colin Wallis, better known by his cape name of Armsmaster.

 

“It’s a gift from a new cape.”

 

“And you are putting it through Master/Stranger protocols?”

 

“Because the cape created it out of paper that came from her body.”

 

“Ah. And where is this cape?”

 

“Still at home,” she held up a hand to stop Colin from asking why that was, “look Colin, I’m not one to tell you on how to do your job, so I’d appreciate it that you do the same. She would have never worked out with the Wards regardless of how we tried to spin it.  She’s been outed, and her powers are unique enough that it will only take a few moments for anyone to recognize them and start making connections.  In public, she would be just as alone as she is now because the Wards would be unable to be around her without people starting to wonder. Then there is the matter of Shadow Stalker.”

 

“She will be disciplined.”

 

“That’s not enough.  That video?  That was just a sample of what has been going on for the last year and a half.  It’s bad enough that the other Wards don’t like working with her because of her attitude, but it doesn’t stop there.”  


“And you believe this new cape?”

 

“She had no reason to lie to me,” Hannah retorted irritably, of course Colin would fight her on this, “and because she specified that it started around the same time Shadow Stalker had been placed there.”

 

“And you sure of this?”

 

“Would I be bringing this up if I wasn’t?”

 

After meeting his gaze for a few moments, she watched as he let out a sigh and shook his head.

 

“Okay, I’ll have disciplinary hearing preparations done.  We really can’t afford to lose any capes at the moment, Hannah.”  


“I know, but is she really worth it?”

 

He only answered her question with a grunt, and he turned to stride away. As he was about to leave earshot, she remembered something.

 

“Oh, and Colin,” this caused him to stop, “I expect that flower back once it passes the protocols.  I don’t want to have to enter your workshop to retrieve it.”

 

There was a slight nod from him, before he walked away, leaving Hannah with the next beast that she would have to slay:  one that was honestly more difficult than Colin.  Taking a deep cleansing breath, she walked over to the elevator and entered it, tapping the number for the floor she wished to go to before it rose up.

 

After about a minute, it reached its destination. The door opened, allowing her to disembark before she set her course for the Director’s office. After a few minutes of wait, she found herself being ushered into the office and left alone with Director Emily Piggot.

 

If there was one word to describe the woman who sat behind the desk to those who knew her, it would be uncompromising.  To those who didn't, Emily Piggot looked like the stereotypical caricature of a bureaucrat: overweight and beady-eyed. She very much resembled what the nickname that no one would be caught dead saying around her evoked - ‘Piggy’.

 

Of course, that had not always been true of the Director, who had been one of only two survivors of unholy terror of Nilbog. Now, though, it was reality.  The woman had become a battleaxe in her role as the Director of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, not flinching in the face of a nearly Sisyphean task to keep Brockton Bay from falling into chaos.

 

“Director,” Hannah greeted.

 

Silver eyes flicked up to her for a moment, before they returned to the computer she had been working on.  After a few more minutes, in which her eyes narrowed considerably in a tell that Hannah knew conveyed nothing too good for the source of the woman's irritation, the Director finally refocused completely upon her.

 

“I take it the recruitment did not go well,” the Director intoned, the question more of a statement than anything.

 

“Unfortunately.  It seems Miss Hess’ actions today is not an isolated incident.  According to Miss Hebert, there has been a campaign of harassment and bullying orchestrated by all three of the girls spanning a year and a half, coinciding to when we placed her at Winslow.”

 

“Can it be proven?”

 

“With a thorough investigation more than likely.  The indicators are there if you look closely enough.  And it’s doubtful that Miss Hess was anything but at the forefront at whatever it was that took place, she’s never been much of a follower.”

 

There was a soft sound that almost sounded like a hum of agreement, but Hannah immediately discarded it as the computer fan, considering who it was that would have made the sound.  Instead, she chose to remain silent until the Director spoke again.

 

“Putting the Shadow Stalker issue aside, I would like your reasoning as to why you didn’t attempt to recruit her regardless.  We could always have moved her to a different city.”

 

“I had considered it, Director,” she admitted, “but she has been unmasked. Even if we were able to move her, which I think would be unlikely, her abilities are too unique for someone not to recognize her immediately considering the video. It’s been plastered all over the boards.  We would be placing an undue burden upon a girl who didn’t ask for any of this, and who didn’t have a chance to be able to hide her identity.”

 

“That may be, Miss Militia, but if you had recruited her, she would at least be protected.  Now she’s a rogue, and we both know what happens to rogues.”

 

“I recommended that she reach out to New Wave.  That way even if she is not a part of the Protectorate, she will still working with us.  And I felt, looking at her situation... I think she, and by extension the rest of us, would be better served if she had the Pelhams and Dallons there for her.”

 

“And what if they turn her down?”

 

“Then I’ll approach her again, Director.  I know you don’t care for catering to individual capes, and I agree it sets a dangerous precedent, but if New Wave doesn’t work out, then making some concessions may go a long way to ensure Miss Hebert at least works with us.”

 

She knew it was breaking decorum in this situation, but she felt that she needed to at least give a lay of the land to the Director before she made a definitive ruling on the matter.  It was likely that Piggot was testing her rationale, but it was better to be safe to avoid possibly alienating a cape in a way that they turned villain.

 

“In my meeting with Miss Hebert, she showed several abilities that could possibly run the gamut of power classifications. Our Thinkers will have… fun trying to ascertain where she fits, I think. That aside, there are two abilities that I think you should know about immediately. The first is that she can create paper replicas of herself that can fully communicate—whether independent or controlled I am unsure—with further possibility that they can be disguised through a form of transformation;  the second is during my talk with her clone, she was currently in the room watching me while having dispersed herself into paper that molded into the surroundings and blended completely in.  If it wasn’t for a lack of experience on Miss Herbert’s part in using her powers, I have a feeling I would have never realized what she had been doing.”

 

Her piece being said, she relaxed just slightly, knowing that what she had said would get through to the Director.  Piggot, in all of the time she had dealt with the woman, was a hard, but mostly fair woman, who would look at the situation in its entirety and make the decisions that while they may not exactly be right, were the best for largely everyone involved.  

 

Especially with a cape that, for all intents and purposes, would be an extraordinarily effective field intelligence gatherer. It was a role that didn’t necessitate direct Protectorate oversight, as long as they got the information anyway. Hannah was far too experienced to dismiss how useful that was - and the Director was her senior there, too.

 

The associations with Nilbog were not _insignificant_ —a cape with a Master ability capable of creating separate constructs—but there was a very big difference between the two situations, and Hannah didn’t think the Piggot would ignore that either.

 

“I take it that you will be getting in contact with New Wave after this?”

 

“As soon as I leave here, I will be making the phone call.  I hope that the Dallons will be visiting her within the next couple of days.”

 

For a moment, she was worried that Piggot would insist that they take a more active approach to recruiting Taylor.  She understood perfectly why Piggot would do so, considering the balance of power in Brockton Bay was shaky enough to where one or two incidents could devolve Brockton Bay into a warzone. It _was_ risky letting an unaligned, unmasked cape ‘simmer’ on her own while you waited for a force that wasn’t yours to make contact with her.

 

But Hannah had explained the situation as she saw it, including all her reasons, and Piggot knew that Hannah didn’t make decisions she didn’t think were justified.

 

“Very well, get in contact with the Dallons,” Piggot finally declared, “if they decide to pass on her, I want you to go back and visit with Miss Hebert.  Until then, I want you to share your observations with our Thinkers so they can get to work on at least providing us an outline of what she may be capable of.”

 

“Understood ma’am.  What about Hess?”

 

Piggot’s expression darkened. “The only thing that will be able to save her at this juncture is if this turns out to be a one-time incident. Even then it won’t be without repercussions. And if it isn’t, I would like to know if she’s been deliberately hiding it from us, or if somebody else has. I will make a determination once an investigation has been made.  Until then, she will remain on the streets with additional supervision. I am entrusting that to you, Miss Militia.”

 

If it was anyone else, she would have likely taken it as Piggot punishing her for not recruiting Taylor, but considering the situation, it was perfectly understandable. Piggot at least loosely trusted her to do what was best for the Protectorate, and keeping an eye on Shadow Stalker in the field would likely be beneficial, especially when Hannah knew to watch her closely.

 

Nodding in acknowledgement, she recognized the dismissal as Piggot turned back her computer and was already back to work on it, and so she made her way to the door.

 

“Oh, and Miss Militia… while I am not displeased with your reasoning in handling Miss Hebert, do _not_ contravene my orders in the future without conferring with me.”

  



	4. Awakening 1.03

The last two days could only be described as abominable. It wasn't through the fact that I was unmasked that caused the issue, although it could easily be construed as such.

No, the issue was my father.

While I had every intention of explaining to him what had happened, and that I was a parahuman when he had arrived home, that opportunity had unfortunately been robbed from me by one of my dad's coworkers who just so happened to be on PHO when the video was posted.

Instead, when my father came home, he already knew what had taken place and had suddenly decided he wanted to be a father once again.

Don't get me wrong, I love my father, but the relationship between us had become completely dysfunctional after my mother's death. She had been the glue of the family.

While I could understand his intent—to see that I was safe—suggesting that I join the Wards was not something I was certain was the path to safety.

No, if not for Konan's knowledge, I would have been woefully ignorant and maybe have agreed with him. But it had been her experiences that had provided me with the realization that there had been more than an innocent interest in those questions from Miss Militia. In fact, they seemed more intended as a fact-finder for something other than recruitment.

And until I could figure out what that was, I would be giving the PRT a wide berth. Call it paranoia, call it thirty-something years worth of life as ninja and a revolutionary stuck in the back of my head, but I didn't like not understanding what people wanted with me. What they wanted they wanted to know about me – and why.

Dad hadn't agreed with that, believing that joining with Wards was the safest choice for me. He had been prepared with little informational tidbits hoping to get me to agree with him. When that had failed, he had tried to pull the father card.

Suffice to say, that had not ended well. I could make a multitude of excuses about why I snapped, from the events of my life, to Konan's knowledge niggling at the back of my mind, to the fact that my father was trying to push me to do something I did not want, but the fact of the matter was that I had, and in the process likely damaged our already-tenuous relationship irreversibly.

I scowled at the memory, how I had looked at him and simply observed that it was only now—after all the dirty laundry had been aired, and I suddenly mattered—that he tried to be a father. It was unfair, but, if I was to be honest, it simply was the end result of him not being there and me being too much of a coward to go to him until it was far too late.

I could still see the hurt on his face even now, like an open wound upon my soul – but if I really wished to be honest, I was unsure if there was anything really to salvage, or even if I wanted to salvage it.

I let out a deep exhale, forcing away those thoughts for now. It was something that was not critical at this moment, what matter is what I needed to do.

Even with two days of sorting memories, meditation, and exercises, there simply was too much I had to have done. I knew that sooner or later I would be visited by New Wave, and now I found that I wasn't even sure where I wanted to join them. Or if it was her that was influencing that sentiment.

Her. Konan. Amazing, yet terrifying. The idea that there (had) existed a world with people who could change the landscape with their bare hands, wield the elements, and perform superhuman feats the likes that many capes on Earth Bet would be hard-pressed to achieve left me at a loss.

Sure, all the ninja in their world combined probably wouldn't equal the parahuman population of a single country on Earth, but when short-range teleportation is a child's technique and the average shinobi would fit in three-quarters of our power classifications by themselves? I'd always been more impressed by quality than quantity.

Yet, even that paled to Konan herself. How can you describe the knowledge, the feeling, of living an entire life not your own: to have lived, to have loved, to have fought, to have died? It was beyond words. I mean, how could I honestly compare my life to hers?

I wasn't ashamed to admit that I envied her. She had been one of the most powerful people in her world, and that was honestly saying something; both because of her competitors and considering the world she had inhabited was fairly patriarchal. Women had a chance of matching their fellow men, but they were too few and far between to take away from the reality.

She was strong, and I… I was not.

But maybe I could be.

I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the fluttering pieces of paper that danced in the nonexistent wind before me, gripped by an aspect of my power. If it was really a power at all.

It was strange; as far as I knew, when a cape gained their abilities, it had some sort of theme and defined limits. It did not evolve, nor did it improve with practice—even if a cape could get better at how they used it—but instead was generally set. It could ramp up, like with Lung, but it was still firmly constrained in a singular mode. And yet I had none of those limits beyond simply my capacity of chakra, something that was currently middling, but I was determined to increase it.

(If I could. Maybe chakra itself was my power. Maybe I was 'just' a Trump, with an internal reservoir I could shape into other forms, like some sort of discount Eidolon. But that didn't feel right).

What then? I knew I was capable of great things, of reaching Konan's levels, but it would take time. Time that I honestly wondered if I had, considering the clock was ticking now that I had been unmasked to the world.

My hand softly closed, the paper floating the in air folding and contorting before becoming butterflies that fluttered in the air in front of me. They hovered there for a moment, before flying out of the window and into the wintry night.

For a moment, I wondered what she might have thought of this world. Then I quickly shook my head; I knew perfectly well she would have been disgusted by all of this, much like I already was.

There was no denying the reality that was readily evident if one simply paid close enough attention: Brockton Bay was dying. With each week… no, with each day, my home was slowly strangled by crime and apathy.

I shoved aside those dark thoughts, not really wanting to dwell upon them. I mean, if a fifteen year old could divine the state of her hometown, just what did that mean about the people in power? I would dwell upon that later, once I actually figured out what I wanted to do in the here and now.

Time was something I needed, and needed desperately. Right now, I wouldn't amount to much, even with what I was already capable of.

Sighing, I got to my feet and stretched, wincing as various kinks in my body worked themselves out. Stifling a small yawn, both due to the night and the time I had spent meditating, I padded softly through the house, going down the stairs to grab a small snack.

Still, in the last two days, I had achieved quite a bit at least in, well, remembering Konan's memories, at least in regards to basic techniques, combat stances, and other abilities. There was still a lot I needed to do, but it wasn't just that; it was also the bleedthrough. Maybe memories was the wrong word for them - sometimes I thought like she would, and if I hadn't spent all this time thinking, I wonder if I would have noticed just how much she had already had an impact upon me.

I know perfectly well that the old me would have never stood up to the trio. Not in a million years. In a way, they had achieved what they intended – they had destroyed me, and I had merely become a revenant shambling through my non-existence. If not for my trigger, if not for Konan, I would have either likely amounted to nothing or given up entirely.

But with Konan's influences… I think the better question was just how much I wanted to embrace her, and how much I wanted to be myself. Quite honestly, I didn't know. I mean, Konan had such a strength to her that I wanted nothing more than to replicate —and yet I didn't want to become what she spent most of her life being.

Maybe I could channel it while I was a cape? Would that be right? Or would it be wrong?

It was with these thoughts rattling in my mind that I opened the fridge, taking a look at my options.

At least now I knew where my increased appetite had come from. And the growth spurt too, I mused as I grabbed a jug of milk, a trio of bananas, and jar of strawberry jam, before closing the door. Walking towards the table, I also grabbed some bagels.

One of the downsides of my trigger was my increased caloric intake, which meant that food costs had ratcheted up. It wasn't backbreaking yet, but if this intake amount was simply to fuel me for the basics, it was going to skyrocket once I actually started exercising, and become unfathomable once I start engaging in combat.

"Yet another thing," I muttered aloud to myself as I spread the jam on the bagel I had selected. It just seemed the more I brooded, the more problems I discovered.

Lifting up the bagel, I opened my mouth to take a bite before freezing as several of the paper bugs that I had created and placed over the neighborhood rippled with alarm. I hadn't really expected anything of them, except they had merely been an exercise, but if they were warning me of something….

Placing down the bagel, I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, proceeding to peek out of the window to the front of the house, and watched as two vehicles pulled up to the front of the house. Immediately, through the link I had with the paper butterfly, I sent it closer, wanting to know who these people were.

I was immediately thankful for the technique, one that had fallen into disuse for Konan thanks to Nagato's chakra rain rendering it obsolete. If it hadn't been in—

A chill ran up my spine, even as I let the curtain go back, my mind whirling at the imagery I was seeing.

Why were the Empire Eighty-Eight here?!

I immediately answered that as I bit back a curse. It made a sick sort of sense. I was the type of poster girl white supremacists would hold up, a white girl who triggered while being assaulted by a black girl. The story would write itself. All they had to do was get me to join and they had their bloody shirt.

But what could I do? Victor and Othala might have been preferable to Hookwolf and Stormtiger, but that was like saying Lung was preferable to Leviathan. True, but really not the point. I thanked whatever deity there was that dad was asleep, because I doubt he would have allowed me to try and handle this. If anything, it would have escalated, even if this wasn't a forcible recruitment attempt. How long would it be until it became forced anyway?

No, I had only one option here, as a plan began to solidify in my mind.

* * *

 

As he closed the door behind him, Victor took a look around the neighborhood with a calculating look. It wasn't much of one, but it was always the unexpected that had a tendency of ruining everything. So as he looked around him, he noted possible points of threat before returning back to the home of one Taylor Hebert.

He had seen the video himself, and while he was intrigued at the ability, he wasn't exactly sure exactly what could be gained from Hebert being recruited apart from the propaganda. Paper was not exactly useful in a fight.

But orders were orders, and he would at least make a solid effort to ensure success.

His head turned to his wife, Othala, who had quietly walked up beside him, her own expression inscrutable in the faint light given off by the streetlamps and houses they passed.

"Let's go," he muttered, motioning a few of the men he had brought along to take up positions to watch, before striding towards the Hebert household, his wife taking position to his rear and left. She laid one hand on his back, looking for all the world like a woman holding her lover — but it was that hand that would grant him invincibility the moment there was a threat.

Hopefully it was unnecessary, but you didn't survive Brockton Bay with hope.

It was only halfway to the house that he paused, as the sound of fluttering paper caused his guard to raise. He watched as several pieces of paper flapped through the air, idly noted that the paper was coming from places that would be perfect for surveillance, as the various sheets went towards the house, before gaining altitude, and—

He blinked, for a moment questioning what he was seeing as the paper continued to coalesce into something that sat upon the top of the Hebert household. Whatever it was shifted around as the paper began to taper off, before it became evident that it was at least humanoid. A pair of wings emerged from the figure and spread, paper floating in and out of their form. They stood up on the roof, highlighted by the moon.

If he been religious, he may have been taken by how almost angelic the wings seemed, but as it was, he merely scoffed at the obvious theatricality of the move. Still, while it might not have been subtle, it was the sort of grandstanding he wouldn't have expected from a freshly-triggered cape, or a teenager. Let alone both.

The figure then slowly rose off the Hebert household, floating down to the front of the house. Her—it was obvious who it was now—wings furled in behind her as she began striding towards him. He didn't even need to turn to know Othala was stepping slightly closer to his side, further hidden by the invincible wall she could make his body with a thought.

Eyes narrowing behind his mask, he let his own ability reach out and take a 'sip' of her skills, only to frown as he found nothing. It was as if he was trying to reach into a void, which was… strange.

"Victor," Hebert greeted, causing him to raise an eyebrow at how unnatural it all felt, like he wasn't dealing with a recently triggered fifteen year old girl but a veteran cape, "may I ask as to why the E88 is here?"

"We are actually here to see you," he trailed off, deciding to treat this a bit differently, and offering her an opportunity to provide a cape name.

"I haven't decided what to do with my life," Hebert responded, divining his intent, "but I think I should preface this by saying I have no intention of joining the Empire."

"May I ask why?" he asked.

"Because I have no interest in being a Nazi," came the flat reply, causing Othala to bristle, the green eyes snapping to her for a second before they came back to him, "in fact, the gangs are half the reason this city is going to hell."

It was with that statement that he realize that whatever possibility for recruitment had likely died a silent death. But the fact that she hadn't adopted a hostile stance towards them at least left the situation tenable.

"And you think being a hero is going to change anything, Miss Hebert?" he asked, keeping his tone polite, even as he again reached out with his ability, "it seems to me that the so-called heroes around here are just another gang, only their masters are the rich and powerful. At least with the Empire, you would know who you are working with and have a goal."

There was a subtle tilt of the head, as the cape across from him seemed to consider his words. For a moment, he wondered if there was an opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

"You're right," came the answer, which did take him aback, because he had expected at least some rejection of the statement, not outright acceptance.

"Of course you're right, Victor," she continued, "the Protectorate, the Wards, New Wave, all of them, they're only really protecting what they can in all of this – where 'what they can' is the rich. The powerful. Those who can afford to live under their aegis. But the difference between them and you is that if they walked past a woman getting beaten up in the street, they wouldn't check to see if she was white first."

And with that, he knew it was a done deal. Now the question became what his options were. Kaiser had been clear that there was to be an attempt to recruit the teenager, but he was not so clear as to what would happen if they failed.

It was obvious that Hebert was going to be a hero, independent or otherwise, so did that change his orders in a way that gave him a green light to eliminate her? But then there was the problem that he could not take her skills, which should be impossible – so what other impossibilities might she be hiding up her sleeve?

The soft sound of shifting paper drew him from his thoughts.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Victor. Please. I'm not interested, and further pursuit is only going to end poorly for all of us."

His hands curled at the perceived threat, but there was truth in her statement. His mandate did not allow him to take any action against Hebert at this time. And it wasn't like they didn't know where she was in the future if she so chose to take a stance against them.

No, now was not the time, and just as he made his decision, it was suddenly robbed from him at the sound one of his men shouting "Cape!"

A very distinctive motorcycle came to a stop a little way down the street, and a familiar figure dismounted.

Armsmaster.

And that was when all hell broke loose.


	5. Awakening 1.04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Magery for bailing my ass out of the fire

The plan that I had put together had been elegant in its simplicity, meant to take into account as many things as it could. The first: I had Miss Militia's number, providing me a means of getting help quickly. The second: I could at least count upon the E88 not escalating into violence immediately, because it wouldn't benefit them in the slightest. The third: I had a way to not put myself at risk.

As a result, I had quickly run back up the stairs to my room, grabbing the card Miss Militia had left me before running back down. As I came to the stop, I closed my eyes and focused, sending a command to the majority of paper bugs I had out there to return and begin forming a clone.

_But where?_

I stopped, realizing exactly how to draw this all out. I would have the clone form itself on the roof – that way it would draw the attention of the E88 away from the _inside_ of the house. I could also use it as my proxy in the event that they did chose to escalate while I got my father out through the back.

That out of the way, I quickly picked up the phone, and began dialing. The phone only rang twice before it was picked up.

"Miss Militia," came the succinct answer. I was grateful that she answered immediately. If not, I would have had to try and call the PRT directly, which would have likely delayed any sort of response.

"Miss Militia, it's Taylor Hebert," I started, adding just a hint of panic into my tone while a part of me watched through the eyes of a few of my bugs. I didn't want the E88 getting any closer to my house than they were already. "I need your help. Victor and Othala are outside my home."

"Stay calm, Taylor," came the swift reply, "are you okay?"

"I am right now; I just sent a clone out to talk with them, but I don't know if they will go or not if—"

"Taylor, what's going on?" my head snapped to my dad, who was drowsily standing in the entranceway.

"Dad, Victor and Othala are outside, I'm trying to solve this," I said, still focused on Miss Militia, "please, can you send someone?"

"Just stay on the phone. Armsmaster is on his way and should be there in a few minutes, Velocity is right behind him. Now, tell me what you are doing."

"Taylor—"

"Not now Dad," I snapped, my attention splitting between myself and my clone, watching as it approached the villain duo. If things went south fast, I needed to know.

"My clone is approaching them," I said. I closed my eyes, trying to focus further, I was with my clone, yet at the same time, I was here. It was difficult, Konan didn't do a lot of this—she used her clones more like automatons than true extensions of her mind—so I was managing it by the seat of my pants. "They just seem to want to talk right now."

"That's good," Miss Militia responded, "can you tell me what they're saying?"

It was a jumble, being me, channeling Konan through my clone, all the while trying to handle two different conversations at once.

"I told them I wasn't interested," I finally said, "and now we're talking about gangs."

"Are they threatening you?"

"No," I responded, "I… may have said some things you'd probably take offense to."

"Don't worry about it Taylor, I know it's stressful. Armsmaster should be there in just a few more moments."

"I don't want to fight," I blurted, "I don't want to send a message that I'm willing to fight anywhere, let alone outside my _home_."

"That's fine. What are they doing now?"

"I just asked them to leave, and—" I could feel _my_ head turn with my clone at the shout of ' _Armsmaster!'_ by one of the E88, "Armsmaster is here."

Everything was coming together nicely. Armsmaster had arrived. Victor and Othala were going to have to stand down and leave. I wouldn't have to do anything.

So why did I feel so on edge?

I focused on my clone, Miss Militia fading away from my focus as I watched Armsmaster—

"No. _No._ "

I spoke through my clone, eyes widening as I realized what was about to happen. It was plain as day: Armsmaster's jaw tensed, indicative of intense focus as he brought up his halberd, Victor and Othala were lowering their body profile, and the armed gangsters were all bringing their weapons to bear upon Armsmaster.

" _Victor and Othala, you are under arrest, surrender quiet—"_

"Taylor—"

My head snapped towards my dad, who was now peering—

"Dad," I panicked, "get away—"

Idly, my mind registered Victor's shout of "No!", not in defiance but command, right _after_ one of the E88 gunmen who had come with them opened fire. The muzzle flash was almost surreal. This couldn't be reality. The first few rounds sparked off Armsmaster as he raised the butt end of the halberd, pointing it in the direction of the E88's van. A muffled 'thump' reached my clone's ears.

Then he started to run. To Konan—to me—he wasn't fast. To the gangsters? He was on them in a couple of seconds. Even as my mind began registering the fact that my dad was in a completely unprotected position, I could see through my clone's eyes that Victor and Othala were already running. Armsmaster had already dropped the first gunman, the one who had opened fire first, brutally knocking him aside with the shaft of his halberd as rounds continue to deflect off his armour.

It was as he slammed a fourth gunman down several moments later that his head turned, and I could see, clear as day, his lips drawing back to reveal teeth clenched in anger. He was looking at Victor and Othala as they ran.

I knew exactly what he was thinking, and my mind was already processing—

"Dad," I shouted, running towards my father as he turned towards me.

In my clone's eyes, Armsmaster had already started sprinting towards Victor and Othala. He passed straight across the front of my house. The remaining two armed gangsters tracked their fire.

I felt them hit me, you know? The bullets. Both my clone and myself. It was a strange, discomforting feeling as they passed through me. Like I had something in my eye and I blinked it straight out, except I had six eyes across two bodies and they'd all been on my chest. It didn't make any sense.

And then, just like that, the realization of what had just transpired came crashing back. If the bullets had gone straight through me, then they—

"Dad," I breathed, even as I knew what I was going to see. Konan knew ballistics, and I wasn't an idiot. There was was only one direction they could have gone. I turned my head to see my father, his eyes wide with shock as his legs began to give out beneath him.

I immediately fell to his side, my hands splaying out over his chest, where blood was already seeping through his clothes at three separate points. I was as desperate as if I'd been the one bleeding, gasping, _dying_ as I tried to pull something— _anything_ from Konan's memories to try and help him.

It was to no avail. Konan only ever saved by killing.

How long I was there by his side, I didn't know. It might have only been a few seconds. It might have been for the rest of my life. I didn't care. All I knew was that I was completely powerless as I saw the realization on my father's face. He tried to say something, and I—

All I could do was stare mutely, unable—no, unwilling to process anything.

 _I can't do this. Make it all go away. I don't want to be a cape_. _I just want_ —

I heard a scream. A loud, piercing, shrieking _scream_ ; the sort you would imagine from someone who had lost everything and simply could not take it anymore.

It was only as things went dark that I realized the screaming was mine.

* * *

It was a credit to their ex-military backgrounds—part of the reason why they'd been hand-selected by Victor—that the moment the gangsters realized they had been firing into the Hebert household, they'd stopped. By the time they had reacquired Armsmaster, the angles were too poor that they only begged for additional rounds to go into either their principals or other residences.

Instead, while one man went to work seeing if he could lift another vehicle and use it for their getaway, the other provided cover for the four men who were in various states of injury thanks to Armsmaster.

It was at this point that the last man, who went by the name 'Rocky', had found his rifle trained upon Taylor Hebert. She was the only visual threat at the time. Slowly approaching with his rifle trained upon her, he found that could see _through her_ in several places where the rounds had found purchase in her form. And yet she stood there, completely silent. She might as well have been a paper statue; he could see the sheets of paper bracketing the holes. It was like there was nothing human left inside her.

The sound of a scream caused him to train his rifle on the house and from where the scream had come from. His attention completely focused upon the scream, he never noticed "Taylor's" eyes as orange started consuming green.

The only warning that something had changed was when his gun was cut completely in half, metal and plastic giving away equally without resistance. He found himself staring into burnt orange void of emotion before a hand pressed itself into his face. Weightlessness. Impact.

Darkness.

'Taylor' stood over his body for a second, staring at him, and then at her surroundings. Scanning done, she broke completely apart, paper taking off at high speed as another cloud of paper suddenly joined it from inside the house. The other gangster, fresh off hotwiring a car and helping his fellows into it, pulled up to the scene. The paper attacked. It moved like a swarm of locusts, punching through the windshield and cocooning the man like it was being directed by some great, disembodied spider. The other four injured gunmen received the same treatment, and then the cloud took off at high speed.

Taylor reappeared amidst the cloud as wings formed around her, sheets of paper floating around her body like shoals of fish.

When she caught up to Armsmaster, Victor, and Othala, it was just as Othala had used her abilities to give Victor a boost of speed to escape from Armsmaster. The woman had turned to fight him, in the same way a kitten might fight a lion. None of them had any warning; not even Victor's speed saved him as Taylor descended upon all of them from on high, wrapping them up in paper and leaving only Armsmaster's and Victor's heads uncovered.

"Hebert, what are you—" whatever else Armsmaster was going to say was lost as the paper crawled up to cover his mouth, and Victor's shortly after. Taylor slowly rose from the paper attached to them, only half her body visible each time. There she rested, staring straight at them. Her expression was inscrutable, but her eyes burned with fury like dying stars.

She could feel Armsmaster trying to fight her, but it was no use. His armour made him strong – but so were shinobi, and they could not escape her either. Victor was struggling too, and Othala, but only briefly. Perhaps they realised the futility. Their chances of escape were far below Armsmaster's, and he had none at all.

It left her with a question: what should she do now?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, that choice was taken away from her with the arrival of a red-clad hero, Velocity, who just stared at her for a moment, processing the scene before him. It was only afterwards that he spoke, first softly into his radio where she could not hear, and then louder, to her.

"Miss Hebert, please release Armsmaster. Now."

She rotated around, like something from the Exorcist, paper rustling against paper before she rose out from it entirely; two waist-up halves bled together into a single, full-bodied whole as she stepped away from Armsmaster and towards Velocity.

"Why? I am detaining the men responsible for initiating the shootout at my home," she said, her voice a dull monotone, "the men responsible for my father's death."

"I'm going to insist that you release—"

"I wish to speak with Miss Militia," she interrupted, her head turning slightly at the sight of a PRT response van arriving in the distance, several men and women dispersing from the back. Her eyes narrowed as paper began peeling off her form, floating up and around her, "preferably without further violence."

"You're the only one making this worse, Miss Hebert."

"I didn't ask for you to come and turn my home into a warzone," she snapped, turning to face him again as the paper that had been floating froze. Velocity tensed, watching as her eyes closed. "I didn't ask for my father to die."

Her eyes opened again, as bright and orange as the dawn. The paper began to peel from Armsmaster behind her, falling around her body like a funeral shroud. "Then again, it doesn't matter, does it? I should be used to this by now. We fight, civilians suffer, and the world keeps turning."

She turned away and walked towards the Hebert household as the last sheets slipped from Armsmaster's form.

* * *

It had taken almost an hour before they were able to clean up the mess left behind by Crusader and Hookwolf's foray into ABB territory, a move now pretty much confirmed to have been a diversion to draw the Protectorate away from their true objective. As the cleanup had finished, Hannah's attention had been focused upon the reports of what had transpired at the Hebert household.

On one hand, she could understand what Colin had been attempting to do: capturing Othala and denying the E88 their healer would have been the singlest greatest blow anyone had struck against them in years. But, on the other hand, she cursed him for being so damn foolish with his assumptions. Sure, Othala had been captured, but the cost certainly wasn't worth it. Not to Taylor Hebert.

As she brought her vehicle to a stop in the street outside of the Hebert household, she reviewed just a few things that were now becoming apparent about Taylor. The core of it was the acknowledgement was that she was a lot more dangerous than first appearances. And second appearances, for that matter.

It wasn't just the clones, or the ability to blend in – now it was her ability to use her paper to capture and subdue targets. If the evidence was true, and she honestly believed it, Taylor could cut through weapons as well.

Skin was a lot softer than a gun.

And Taylor was likely never to work with the Protectorate after today.

"Velocity," she greeted the red-clad hero as he stood idly beside one of the now several PRT vans that had stationed themselves around the house. An ambulance had taken up position further down the street, but the paramedics seemed to be waiting for them before they went in, which was honestly a smart choice considering the situation.

"Miss Militia," he greeted back, uncrossing his arms.

"Is it as bad as I'm hearing?" she asked, looking to the front of the house where Taylor Hebert now stood, her closed expression giving all the indication necessary of how tense the situation had become. Hannah had seen expressions like that before – back when she was a child.

"Worse," Velocity said with a sigh, shaking his head, "I'm pretty sure we have one fatality in the Hebert household, but she's not letting us get any closer to confirm. I also have one critically injured E88 gang member who had the back of his head caved in by the road, compliments of Miss Hebert. PHO is lighting up right now with videos from some of the neighbors, Armsmaster has been recalled back to the Rig, and the Director is on the verge of a coronary."

"I wouldn't doubt it," she murmured. "Is that her or—"

"We're pretty sure it's a clone," Velocity said, walking over behind the PRT van he had been leaning against, returning with something in his hand, "I read your report on your previous encounter with Miss Hebert, and I wanted to test something."

He then held out a scope to her, and she looked at him in askance, recognizing it as a handheld FLIR scope.

"Just humor me."

Taking it, she brought it up to her and looked towards the Hebert household, eye narrowing behind the scope at what she was seeing.

"When you noted that she had created a clone from paper, I wondered if there would be any way we can detect whether she was a clone or not," Velocity continued. "It appears that her clones cannot mimic body temperature."

"I see," she returned, noting the truth in Velocity's statement as she stared at the clone for a few more moments before handing back the scope. While it wasn't a lot, at least they'd learned something. "Is she still in there?"

"Well, you know as well as I that FLIR can't really see through walls. She could be gone, but the fact that she demanded to talk to you, well..."

 _It's doubtful,_ she agreed, before nodding in acknowledgment and offering a thanks to Velocity. That done, she solemnly strode towards the house, intent on at least talking with Taylor Hebert to get her side of things.

Knowing what she did, however, she simply walked by the clone, whose only acknowledgement of her as she approached was a slight turn of the head before it returned to watching the PRT and Velocity. She opened the door and stepped inside, freezing immediately.

There, on her knees, her father's head upon her lap, was Taylor Hebert.

"You know, it's ironic," Taylor spoke dully as silent tears slid down her cheeks, her hand brushing her father's hair, "I agreed with Victor that the Protectorate was no better than any other gang, in that it was selfish in its interests."

"Tay—"

"Tell me, Miss Militia," Taylor cut her off, not even bothering to look to her, "is this what it means to be a hero?"

"It shouldn't have to be." What else was there to say?

That simple statement seemed to have an effect upon Taylor. She began shaking, the tears falling faster now.

"He didn't have to do it," Taylor rasped, looking up at her with emerald eyes. Hannah cautiously crept forward. "All he had to do was to get them to leave, and none of this would have happened. They came here to _ask_! To ask!"

As Hannah placed her hand on her shoulder, the dam broke completely.

Taylor wept like she'd never cry again.


	6. Awakening 1.05

 

 

 

 

 

The evening had not ended as pleasantly as it had began for one Director Emily Piggot. The Hebert situation was finally looking that it would be handled in the near future, and things were back to operating well enough despite the loss of Shadow Stalker. It had been with this knowledge that she had gone to bed.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Murphy had decided to revisit his vile existence upon her, as she had been woken up in the middle of the night to the news that the E88 had made an attempt to recruit Hebert.

Why they had done that was still up for analysis, but the fact that they  _had_  was something that she needed the answers to – yesterday. Up until last night, Hebert had rated rather low on any recruitment scale Emily could think of, because there didn't exist enough information to form an adequate basis for her power set; and, of course, she'd been publicly outed. For the E88 to possibly risk open warfare with the ABB by deploying Crusader and Hookwolf into their territory for something that, on the surface, seemed like a propaganda play made no sense whatsoever. Kaiser was not an idiot, and he didn't take risks unless he felt like they were worth it. So what had the E88 known that the PRT did not?

That wasn't even the biggest problem – it was only one facet to the shit crystal that had been tossed into her lap. The other was why she was back in her office, barely refraining from giving into the urge to verbally tan the hide of the team leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate.

What Armsmaster did had  _not_  been wrong, in the grand scheme of things. If she were to be honest, in any other circumstances, she would be applauding him for his involvement in the capture of Victor and Othala. Unfortunately, this wasn't any of those other circumstances: while the ends justified the means, it was the related cost that was causing far too many complications.

But there was a reason why she had been put in charge of arguably the  _worst_  Protectorate district—too many villains, not enough heroes, and a slowly collapsing economy—and that was because she was a survivor, both in the physical and political sense. She  _understood_  what was necessary in the face of a difficult situation. It was why in the face of the likes of Lung, Kaiser, and being horribly outnumbered in the ratio of capes and villains, she had held the line far better than she'd had any right to.

Of course, those successes came at a cost. Politically, she had few allies in and out of Brockton Bay, with only her successes earning her the leeway to operate as she has been. Furthermore, her health, which was already poor as a result of Nilbog, suffered further as the long and fraught hours of her job consumed almost all of her time.

Regardless of success and cost, what mattered now was deciding upon how to defuse this situation, especially since it had already gone live on PHO. It was disgusting how easy information proliferated without restraint in this technological age. More often than not the entire world knew what was going on before she heard about it in briefing. Such was the power of modern telecommunications.

Despite her misgivings on the ease of informational dissemination, in this case that her job was made easier. While there were some questions marks on PHO about Armsmaster's actions, much of the condemnation seemed to be focused upon the E88 – they'd come to Hebert's house, they'd brought the guns, they'd started using them, and that was enough for the average Joe. So any public relations response was merely a matter of reinforcing this condemnation by framing it with the right amount of emphasis.

Handling Armsmaster's actions was the easy part. It was the  _other_  half of the equation that was the reason she was considering her options: Taylor Hebert.

She actually felt pity for the girl. Parahuman or otherwise, Hebert had gotten the raw end of the stick: being exposed as a cape to the entire world and her father being claimed by the insanity that had permeated this world since Scion had appeared. From everything Miss Militia had said, the girl had seemed to be pleasant, and decently intelligent, even if she did seem jaded to the world, but that was understandable if the reports from Winslow High were to be believed. A much better person than Shadow Stalker; if Piggot could have swapped them, she would have.

Nonetheless, Taylor Hebert was the crux of the current issue. While she now had a significant degree of interest in recruiting Hebert into the Wards thanks to the revelations of several new abilities, it would have been far easier if she had the leverage of Danny Hebert in order to gain it. Unfortunately—for everyone involved—Mr. Hebert had been the only casualty last night, and that made it significantly more difficult to recruit Miss Hebert… or, at least, it'd take a lot longer than she'd like. Acquiring the girl was not in doubt—it would happen, as soon as possible—but the  _how_  of it was a little more complicated. Even if it was in the girl's best interest.

Nobody should suffer through a loss like that alone. The military certainly hadn't been that cruel when Emily had lost her whole team to Nilbog.

Back to the point, the reason it would be more difficult to recruit her now was because of cape law itself: even nearly thirty years after the first cape had appeared, it was still an extremely murky field. There were rulings here or there, but the problem was law was an accrual of individual cases that built a foundation for further rulings. Individual cases that were missing in several instances they couldn't be if you wanted to provide a core superstructure that could field various facets of law as necessary. Sure, there existed laws in the realm of normal citizens, but when there were a class of citizens who could also be classified as weapons, existing case law wasn't necessarily applicable until directly challenged and clarified.

As a result, there was no doubt in her mind that she could get an injunction in the custody of Hebert; while the young woman had grandparents on her paternal side, the courts were not going to award custody of a cape to them due to their age. With that established, it was only a matter of applying the right amount of pressure and legal finagling, while keeping a facade of being only interested in Hebert's best interests.

Not that it was a facade, exactly: in Emily's firm opinion it  _was_  in the girl's best interests if she lived life as a hero under the Protectorate's support structure—including the psychologists the Youth Guard would no doubt insist on and that Taylor Hebert would desperately need—rather than lose herself to villainy or waste her powers and potential as a rogue (which strayed onto the side of villainy fairly often anyway, in her experience). Recruiting Hebert was the best possible result for both of them. Best possible, not best actual, of course; that would be if her father was still alive.

The only issue that might crop up was the state. The relationship between the Protectorate and the state was tremulous at best. It all came down to power, and, unfortunately, governments were rather jealous and stingy about retaining power. They had only unwillingly given it to the Protectorate in the first place as they were poorly equipped for villainous capes at the time, and it just so happened the Protectorate had been ina position to deal with them. Now, though, the state had begun chafing at the bit that there was a paramilitary organization of capes and their supporting staff that did not necessarily fall under its jurisdiction: their charter rested with the federal government instead.

That meant the question was this: would they intervene in an unforeseen way, or would they simply provide her the means to succeed? She was honestly unsure, especially considering some of the mutterings out of the capital as of late.

Cupping her chin as she considered her options, she eventually came to a decision, springing to action as she began typing several memos to forward both up the chain, but also to several of her contacts in the government.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was just as he began his third review of the footage from the battle at the Hebert household that Colin Wallis finally found himself with a visitor who could provide him with a fresh perspective on his actions.

"Dragon," he greeted, as he accepted the video call from the one person who probably understood him best.

"Hello, Colin. I heard what happened."

Grunting in acknowledgment, he began playing the video again, a whisper in the back of his mind telling him he was missing something all of this.

"Colin. Talk to me," Dragon insisted, bothered by her best friend's behavior. While she knew that Colin would view the success of capturing Victor and Othala—despite the tragic circumstances—as something he would be proud of, this was not what she had been expecting when she had decided to call him.

"About what?" he asked after a moment, pausing the video as he focused solely upon Dragon.

"What happened at the Heberts'?"

There was a silence for a moment, Colin obviously organizing his thoughts on the matter. He shifted slightly, perhaps in discomfort about having to explain his actions; considering all his successes in his body of work, he probably wasn't used to it.

"I misread the situation," he admitted, his expression like he was biting into a bitter fruit.

With her silence enticing him to explain himself further, he reactivated the video. Dragon watched on as video-Armsmaster charged the gunmen arrayed in front of the car. Colin himself was studying the expression of the first gunman's face as he began talking further.

"When Miss Militia alerted us that Victor and Othala were at the Hebert household, I knew there was an opportunity to capture them. I had read the briefing from Miss Militia and knew Hebert was interested in a career as a hero. With Victor and Othala venturing that far out from E88 territory to meet with her, I believed there was an easy chance to take them in that we may never get again."

"You made an informed assumption." There was no accusation in her tone; she probably would have made the same decision based upon the information she did have at the time. It was extremely unfortunate—for the Heberts more so than anyone else—that it hadn't worked out flawlessly.

"Yes," he confirmed, irritation coloring his tone. "I believed that Hebert would have at least slowed Victor and Othala's attempt to retreat, allowing me to disarm the E88 gang members. Once that had been done, it would have just been an easy matter of mopping up."

"But she didn't."

"No," he agreed, massaging the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, "she didn't."

As he watched the rest of the video, he couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration and anger at the teen as she stood there and did  _nothing_. If it hadn't been for her inaction, then everything would have worked out perfectly. Instead, the capture of Victor and Othala had been marred by the death of Danny Hebert. If only she had simply done what she  _should_  have. Everything could have been perfect, if only she hadn't decided to screw it up.

He froze, eyes blinking as he caught sight of something that shouldn't be, before reaching forward, pressing stop on the video, and quickly rewinding it by a few moments. He then let it play again, leaning forward expectantly and watching as he found himself sprawled out by the paper that had wrapped around him. Once it had firmly ensnared him, a head began coming out of the paper, and he paused just as light added definition to the features.

"Can you clean this up, Dragon?" he asked, his expression focused, body tense, almost daring for what he was seeing to be further revealed for him. If what he now suspected was confirmed, there was an even larger issue that would have to be punted highed up the chain – one that could be exceedingly worrisome.

"Certainly Colin, though I'm not sure what you are looking for," Dragon replied, digitally working over the image. A few minutes later, she finished.

"Orange eyes," Colin murmured, eyes narrowing at the image before him. "Miss Militia mentioned in her encounter with Hebert that at one point she had orange eyes. But Taylor Hebert has green eyes."

Dragon was silent, already accessing files pertaining to Taylor Hebert. When she finished, she frowned. "Velocity also mentions orange eyes in his after-action report as well. A side-effect of more impressive displays of her power, or do you think it's something else?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "it could be nothing. It doesn't make sense in my experience of Breakers and Changers, however."

He rested his chin upon his first, staring at the image before him. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, and he was unsure if it was related to his irritation with Hebert, something else, or both.

"What's bothering you, Colin?"

His eyes left the image to look to Dragon for a moment on the vidcall, before they wandered back. After a few moments, he saved it and ended the video, instead opening up a recreation of the crime scene, his expression pensive. It was watching his expression that she found herself becoming further worried with her friend. He was usually so professional, but here it was almost like he was...obsessed.

"Colin."

"I just can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something, Dragon," he muttered, shaking his head as he stared at it, "something that shouldn't be here."

"Well, why don't you walk me through all of this, maybe all you need is an extra set of eyes."

"Right," came the response, "When I arrived at 2216, the six armed thugs were arrayed in a guarding position, allowing enough room for Victor and Othala to approach Hebert without being threatening, but close enough to provide protection if things were to go poorly. As for Victor and Othala, they were just short of the steps of the household with Hebert standing about five feet away from them."

"After I demanded that they surrender, Mr. Harter," he indicated the first gunmen he incapacitated, "immediately opened fire. Engaging, I disabled Mr. Harter before taking down Mr.'s Miller, Johnson, and Brooks, only then recognizing that Hebert had allowed Victor and Othala to run."

"So you pursued them."

He hesitated a moment, before reining in his irritation at the events that followed. Nodding, he finally continued.

"With the recognition that if I did not pursue Victor and Othala, they would be able to get away, I disengaged, leaving the last two suspects and immediately began pursuit of Victor and Othala. The rest is in the report."

He was met with silence from Dragon. He wondered just what she was thinking, while a little part of him was satisfied that she agreed with his decisions. There were too many people who did not understand the job that they did and would simply judge them.

"That's strange," Dragon finally spoke, bringing him from his musings. "Taylor Hebert has no experience, correct?"

"As far as we know, yes."

A window was brought up onto his computer, this time of the video taken from his motorcycle, giving an excellent view of where Hebert's paper clone was standing as one of the remaining gunmen slowly walked toward it, weapon at the ready. Just as he approached, Hebert sprung into action, and Colin watched as the gang member was disarmed, before grabbed with one hand, lifted up, and then slammed down. That was before she then broke apart, immediately targeting the rest of the gang members and then moving on to what he knew what was next.

But it also served to cause the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, as he realized exactly what Dragon had found.

"How many teenaged capes do you know on their first night would have this advanced a sense of threat recognition, and act so decisively in response, Colin?"

"None," he responded. Even Vista or Shadow Stalker wouldn't have been so fast, so  _polished_  - he knew adult capes who weren't.

"That's something you only learn through experience. Where did she get hers?"

 

 

* * *

_It's all my fault._

Such a simple statement that meant so much more. Just acknowledging it made me sick to my already thrice-emptied stomach. The demons of  _what if_ flitted around in my thoughts as they drove their barbed pitchforks wherever they could, reminding me that I had been the one to make the phone call that ended up with my father dying.

I hadn't been thinking. No, scratch that, I had been thinking, only I had been thinking  _wrong._  I could have saved Dad. All it would have taken was changing the density of my paper while I had shifted. I could have paid more attention to where he was. I could have told him that it was handled.

I could have prevented him from being shot.

I could have prevented him from being killed.

_I could have prevented all of this._

My stomach roiled at the thought, churning what little contents were in there as I continued my self-castigation. I had been the one to set the stage for the events that transpired, and I had been the one who had stupidly believed that everything would work out in the end.

It seemed I now had another thing in common with her.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, tears refusing to respond to the urge to empty themselves from already-dry ducts.

I had no doubt in my mind that the only thing that was preventing from completely shattering was the influence of  _her_  experiences. Just as I now realized that it hadn't truly been  _me_  that had fought and captured Armsmaster, Victor, and Othala. I had been a witness, but it had been all like I was on the outside looking in on someone else's life.

I knew who Konan had been. That was quite different to understanding  _what that meant_.

But that was all immaterial right now, I thought to myself, taking a breath and trying to reign in the flagging emotions that were vying to drive me into a depression I couldn't afford. What mattered now was what  _I_  was going to do. I could dwell upon all of this later.

While my paternal grandparents were still alive, I knew it was unlikely they would take me considering I was responsible for Dad's death, so where I was going to end up was outside of my control. Unless I ran, but what good would that serve? I could never again wear my face or use most of my powers if I didn't want to be arrested or abducted off the street by the first hero, villain, or PRT squad to recognise me.

The point was I knew enough about parahumans to know that my situation was rather unique, thanks to my unmasking. I was firmly in the grey area of the law, if there were even any properly related to my case, and so it was likely that I would default to becoming a ward of the state, or—I ground my teeth—a Ward of the Protectorate. The former was more attractive than the latter, especially since I didn't trust the Protectorate's interests. Furthermore, I didn't think I could bring myself to being a part of the organization that was responsible for Armsmaster.

That didn't mean I was going to take any sort of revenge on him, or Empire 88, for that matter. I knew enough from Konan how revenge ends. But that didn't mean that I would not make it personal if I had the opportunity.

I shook my head. That was not my focus, not right now. I needed options, and there were scant few that I could think of that were palatable. Too many unknowns, too many options predicated on information I just didn't know.

The only thing I did know, however, is that I needed to be stronger. In everything. So this would never happen again.

But that again came back to a similar problem: how  _could_  I become stronger? Especially in my current situation.

All I needed was an opportunity. One that I could grasp with both hands. And if that opportunity did not come, then I would make it. There was no way I was going to allow this to be the end. I'd failed once, in a life that wasn't even mine. Then I failed again, this time in my own. A third time? Not now. Not ever.

My gaze fell to my hand, where a single paper crane lay in it – I couldn't even recall when I'd created it. Still, I found myself staring at it, mesmerized for a few moments as I then willed it to shift, watching as it changed through several animals, before coming back to a crane. I clenched my hand, feeling the paper reabsorb itself into me with nary a sound.

Time had become my enemy and ally both, I realized, more so than anything else. With time, I would have options, but none I could control.  _What would Konan do?_  I wondered to myself, as I looked out the window at the sun that was rising on the horizon.

The silence had no answer.

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, another person maintained their vigil upon the rising sun, the almost zen-like permanence of the celestial body being met by equally brilliant blue eyes as they stared impassively into it.

For Max Anders, the previous evening had been one of inconveniences bordering on irritation. When he had set into motion the plan to recruit Taylor Hebert, it had been with the intentions of doing it  _quietly_ , based upon his sources in the Protectorate. Nowhere in that plan did it include the comedy of errors that he had been served with.

He had been explicit in his orders that there would be  _no fighting_  to Victor and Othala. They were only to go there and inquire in Miss Hebert's willingness to join the Empire 88, not start a damned firefight in a suburban neighborhood, and  _most definitely_  not get Danny Hebert killed in the process.

Alas, it seemed Victor had placed too much faith in the men he had handpicked. Not only had he failed in the simple task he had been assigned, but he had damaged the image of the Empire 88. For that he would have be held accountable when he was returned back to the fold. Victor was a loyal and effective subordinate, but discipline must be maintained.

The men who had fired the shots—well, they would be made an example of. It was only fair to Miss Hebert that he show his contriteness by terminating the men who had stolen her father, the same as he had done for New Wave and Fleur's killer; and that man hadn't even  _been_  part of the Empire.

When it came to Miss Hebert herself… he allowed a small smile to form on his face as he sipped from the expensive bourbon. It seemed that his investment of resources, regardless of the outcome, had certainly been merited. He could count on one hand the amount of people who could get a jump on—let alone disable—someone like Armsmaster. He wasn't sure  _he'd_  be able to do it, not without preparation. For a fifteen year old girl to take down the leader of the Protectorate with such apparent ease, well, it was a scene he was likely not going to forget for awhile. He would have to make sure his sources in the PRT were well-rewarded for their information.

The question now became just what was he going to do in lieu of this failure, he mused to himself, as he strode back into his study. He would, of course, retrieve Victor and Othala – that was without any doubt. Othala was critical in maintaining his forces, and Victor was just too useful to let languish.

No, he would have them sprung. It wouldn't take much considering the laughable effort that was put into detaining those who were not bound for the Birdcage. And it wouldn't take much to ensure that Victor and Othala would be readily available to retrieval when his forces arrived.

It was Hebert – Hebert was the question on his mind. The young girl obviously would have no love for the Protectorate—considering it was Armsmaster who had sparked this debacle—and if a whisper that had reached his ear was true, then it was possible the Protectorate liable for far more than just that. Any dislike she would have for the E88 could easily be assuaged with the right mixture of truth and lie. After all, it hadn't been their intent to start a fight, despite what the media was going to be saying about it today.

Fingers tapping gently on the desk, he cleared and focused his mind upon the task at hand. Just how much of an investment should he make in this endeavor? It wasn't like there was too much risk for the E88 if he were to continue his pursuit of the girl. Given the situation, there were now other means available to him that could be far more effective than force or intimidation.

After a few more moments, he smiled again and reached toward his phone to pick it up After dialing in a number, he awaited a response, his fingers once again drumming gently upon the wood.

"Jamison," he began, letting his smile be inflected in his tone, "I need you to look into something for me. Off the books for the moment, of course."


End file.
